(???, ???)
Well, this certainly was exciting.
Oh, who was he kidding? This was beyond irritating and bordering on the preposterous.
Like most normal people, he had been minding his own business, excited to start his first day on a hard-earned internship.
All those months spent on revision and studying had paid off, at least that's what he assumed. Figures that it would all go down the drain on the first day.
Naturally, it absolutely had nothing to do with his cousin making a few calls. No, my good sir, you must be mistaken!
No, he did not fuck up, nor did he spill coffee all over his supervisor. Unfortunately, it happened to be way worse.
Having one's planet get invaded by aliens straight out of that comedy sci-fi movie 'Mars Attacks!' was not in the dossier he'd been given. Unfortunately, his branch got vaporized in the process, just when he thought he had made a good first impression.
Talk about leaving an impression, on the ground that is. Life knew how to throw a curveball, but this was a bit much.
As the saying goes, in for a penny, in for a pound.
That day ended with him being conscripted to protect the planet. They say 'protect', but everyone knows it was really just prolonging the inevitable.
Humans were quite the stubborn bastards as the aliens quickly learned. Surprise, Surprise. It took an interstellar invasion for humans to decide that borders were just plain stupid and unity was far more useful.
Sadly, he ended up as one of the cannon fodder that didn't see much use. It would have been epic to see the whole shebang unfold.
Too bad that some hapless bureaucrat had probably arranged months of training, only for it to go to waste as the aliens got bored with their games and just straight up obliterated the city he was stationed in.
So now here he was, a soul trapped in this confusingly comfortable void, sipping on an unhealthy amount of something that was probably not a pina colada and monologuing his death.
Great time, 8/10 would recommend for any afterlifer looking to chill and not be an unappreciated isekai protag with a battle harem.
...
After god knows how long, the first change to occur since his death finally happened.
That, or the author got bored with the void real quick and just wanted the plot to progress.
Seeing a floating Gandalf fit in quite perfectly with the outrageous theme his life had been going for since the invasion. The old man was staring at him like a priest eyeing his next vic... choir boy. Real predatory behavior right there.
Where was Chris Hansen when you needed him? Hmm, wait, wasn't that guy too focused on that predatory game these days? Oh well.
Good thing the old bastard would have trouble finding an entry point, he was a soul blob after all. Even those Tang Clan fellows who took the 'every hole is a goal' saying to a whole new level would have struggled with pinpointing their orifices.
Hell, grass, rabbits, dragons, and even fish. No one was safe from their perversions.
Coughing politely, "Are you quite done there, child?" The old man rudely interrupted his thoughts.
Giving the geezer the side-eye. "Not sure, can you come back later. Just to make sure."
Sighing audibly, "This is why I let S.E deal with your chaotic avatars."
"Thank you." The soul blob said cheerfully.
"That wasn't a... You know what, I don't have time for this." Whatever the old man wanted to say was gone as he decided to grab the very much insane soul blob.
Without being able to say anything else, poor blob found himself being chucked right out of his comfortable home and found himself racing through bright lights that were passing him like those hyperlane space travel scenes.
It was quite soothing.
A sudden realization popped into his head, 'Huh, I haven't paid my rent yet though!'
...
Good news. He wasn't a baby.
No, wait, he was, or more accurately had been, but his memories only awakened recently.
No traumatic exit scene for any of those into that sort of gore. The reason he was now a member of the reincarnation gang was because some fucker decided giving a three-year-old a wooden sword and asking him to swing at whatever took his fancy was a bright idea.
Then they promptly shoved him in front of a more experienced child soldier, and it went as well as one would expect it to. The little bastard did not hold back. Clearly, they had an amateur sadist in their hands. Well, at least he got his memories back. That was something.
Safe to say he found himself in front of an old man who was looking at him with pity.
Which he couldn't blame the man for. His life was basically the generic fantasy protagonist template.
A distant mother who couldn't decide whether she hated him or tolerated him, an asshole father who ran away to get some milk and a throne, apparently, and grasping cousins who thought it made for a good opportunity to get at his inheritance.
Suffice to say, this young master didn't feel like a young master at all.
2/10, next time do better, old man.
Still, there was some good news. His own old man might have taken a lesson from a certain stereotype, but he had the decency to leave him with something to defend himself with.
Now you might be asking yourself, what could a three-year-old possibly use to protect himself from assholes with a hard-on for power and riches?
Disclaimer, they didn't get bitches though, they were too fugly for that.
That, my dear friend from beyond this dimension, happened to be none other than a temperamental scaly cat. More commonly known as a dragon.
Well, his old man hadn't given him an actual dragon, that would be incredibly irresponsible of him, though on second thought, it would be on brand for the bastard if what he heard about him was true.
No, it was originally an itty-bitty egg the size of an American medium popcorn. It was an egg and now it wasn't, and the little cutie was as the cliche demanded, very protective of him. What a good girl she was.
Umu, dragon waifus are the best. Truly, bards were onto something.
'I tip my nonexistent hat to you, good sirs!'
Just for that, his cheap old man was leagues ahead of that hag he had to call mother. Good on him, being in the good graces of this generous young master was an honor many could only dream of.
She also happened to be the size of a fucking fighter jet. He wasn't sure if that was normal. Everything was still very big for him. He was still a fuckmothering child after all.
If one went with everyone else's words, it was absolutely abnormal according to everyone and their third cousin, so much so that the old Maester had been swamped with letters from the capital trying to get an approximate comparison.
This young master could acknowledge that it took some real balls from the poor old man, considering how temperamental his scaled kitten was.
This cutie had the decency to hatch just when he had honored this world with his divine presence. Clearly, she was wise beyond her years to see the danger this young master was in from these lesser vermin.
Three years later, he could technically carry out air strikes.
Unfortunately, no one was going to let a three-year-old carry out war crimes, but they allowed him to be beaten by a brat twice his age with a wooden sword. The hypocrisy of these people.
Child abuse was serious business after all.
He did distinctly remember his old man coming to visit when he was a toddler, just to hammer into his distant cousins that there were two flying cats of doom ready to devour them if they actually tried to gut this beloved young master.
Still, didn't stop them from plotting, except instead of killing him, they decided to try and have him disinherited. What a bunch of prudes. How was he supposed to feed them to Midnight?
Was it too on the nose to name his smug death machine the point in time they were both technically born in? Why yes, it was!
It reminded the hag that she had birthed them and had to accept it, whether she liked it or not.
Plus, there was the benefit of seeing his adorable blonde cousin. She was very interested in his flying death machine, and had even given him candy like a pervert with a white van.
There was that redhead friend of hers, too, eyeing him like he was a particularly succulent piece of steak.
'Were they trying to groom him? Eh, probably not.'
Not that this young master wanted these lands filled with hate boners anyway. He was decidedly going to go the Dany route. The ingredients were already there. All he needed to do was cook.
How hard could it be?
...
(He Who Went Out to Look for Milk, ???)
Daemon motherfucking Targaryen was a very proud man.
What else could be expected for a man who had managed to have a son without nearly killing his wife in the process? One who commanded a rather respectable-sized dragon.
A dragon who had grown so fast, it left that old bastard and the hag nearly fainting with worry. Old Jaehaerys was rather wroth about the entry of another dragonrider into the mix.
One he had no control over.
This venerable Prince had never been as proud, almost bringing tears of joy to his eyes.
Didn't stop the interfering git from forbidding Daemon from seeing his son to avoid leaving the boy under a bad influence, whatever that meant.
That didn't mean things weren't looking up for this good father. Even now, Daemon and that bronze bitch kept receiving dozens of betrothal requests from Westeros and beyond.
Poor bastards didn't realize Daemon would never accept any of them. Only a pure daughter of Valyria was worthy of his cute little hope. He was angling for his niece, but if his brother refused, there was always the old Sea Snake's daughter. She was pure enough anyways.
Corly was open to the idea, but the man was digging his heels if only, just to piss him off. Fucking copper-counter probably wanted more concessions.
They couldn't do anything just yet. They needed the old bastard to die before they could make anything concrete. He would interfere otherwise.
His father would be less resistant to the marriage, seeing it as a good match that would reconcile the two families.
'Don't worry, boy, your old man had everything in hand.'
What could go wrong?
...
Turns out, a lot can go wrong in a short period of time.
The wrong person died. That being his father, who was now dead, and in the process, throwing the position of heir into complete chaos.
Daemon was annoyed because he could have made peace with the Veleryon cunt and repaired the relationship between the two branches. Giving his son what would undoubtedly be a beautiful bride.
Now, the grasping snake eyed the position of heir for his little drake of a child and refused to negotiate. He had tried to talk with his elder cousin, but she, like her husband, also ignored his ravens.
This left him scrambling to make sure his brother didn't do anything stupid, like accidentally giving up the heir position.
Sigh, the things he did for love. That was his son's throne he was fighting to keep after all.
As for Viserys somehow getting a son, don't be ridiculous. His oaf of a brother should really stop trying to kill poor Aemma with his attempt to force a son.
That poor woman had been through enough.
…
(???, ???)
Shit happened so fast, he didn't know where to look.
His gramps had died, and everyone was fighting for power and whatever scraps were left over.
There was a quick funeral for the poor sod that had been killed by a bloated stomach or something like that, and it happened so fast, giving this venerable young master no time to pay respects to the geezer he had only met once.
Apparently, no one wanted a grandson to pay his respects, too dangerous, they said.
Still, he tried to bless the old man. May his soul rest in peace, either in hell or heaven. They were sister-fuckers after all, it was up in the air where they went in the afterlife.
The 'Great Council' had named his Uncle the heir to the Iron Throne and his cheap old man as second in line, which meant he was third in line.
Cool, he supposed.
Someone must have been smoking something to give these assholes the power to choose their future King/Queen. Any good ruler knew that giving such power to their vassals was a recipe for disaster, just ask the Holy Roman Emperors.
Also, he was curious about why his adorable blonde groomer of a cousin and even that hag that was his mother chose to foolishly throw their support behind his Uncle.
Weren't they putting their own position into jeopardy by side-stepping the laws that allowed them to inherit their positions in the first place?
Anyways, he benefited from it, so he wasn't going to complain about it.
Great news. Everyone showed more respect now that his ascension as King was most assured in their minds, though he supposed it was all going down the drain once his pops said something stupid. Not that they knew that.
No one could predict that a man would be so audacious as to insult his dead nephew just moments after the poor baby breathed his last.
Funnily enough, this made his cousins more excited, claiming that this all-mighty young master couldn't possibly inherit both the Iron Throne and Runestone. Apparently, that was overreaching.
Which was stupid if you asked him, didn't his House have a palace in the Stormlands in the future, and that was without Dragons.
A bunch of plebeians. No imagination whatsoever.
Inheritance this, inheritance that. Can't they come up with better small talk?
As for that woman, she neither agreed nor disagreed. Showing no reaction to her kin's attempt to unseat her own son.
This god-fearing young master, while annoyed, didn't care all that much. She could have been much worse. A moment of silence for those angsty protagonists who just couldn't catch a break.
Now then, moving on to his path to domination.
After thinking about it more, it seemed wise to keep the same initial route. His great how many times grand-niece would take and go after Astapar first.
A professional army was key to maintaining order. After all, Midnight could win the city, but she couldn't help in keeping it.
There was also the small issue of facing nearly every free city. That would be a headache on its own, so it meant he'd have to hurt them as much as possible and as soon as possible.
Give him enough so that when round two happened, he'd be ready.
Daeron Targaryen may not be Napoleon, but this young master would take that great man's teachings to heart.
He had a continent ripe for conquest, best get to it as soon as possible, and unlike poor Nap's, this world Britain was not an island nation that could get away with constantly shoving its nose where it didn't belong.
They were connected to the mainland, and they were a war crime away from being destroyed.
…
(Daemon Targaryen, King's Landing)
The Rogue Prince was rarely annoyed.
Yet, that uppity Hightower was starting to get on his nerves. The man fancied himself as the second coming of Septon Barth, with none of the wisdom.
Ambition drove the bastard, turning his once ally of convenience into a foe. Something the ambitious sea-snake no doubt took great pleasure in. Oh, the wily second son sang his praises for all to see, but behind those honeyed words was a serpent lurking, ready to strike at any signs of weakness.
His foolish brother was blind to the machinations of the man. Daemon was not.
The man had recently suggested that his little drake be summoned to King's Landing to reunite the family. This had the Prince on edge. He'd heard a lot of bullshit in his life, much of which came from his own mouth, but Otto's suggestion reeked of horseshit.
There was very little he cared for in this world. His son, brother, and niece were such people, anyone else could burn for all he cared. So when someone dared to threaten their safety, he was well prepared to make true on his House's words.
It didn't help that Jaehaerys' death had everyone on edge.
Everyone had been since the Great Council, simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. Thankfully, the Veleryons understood their place and sulked in peace at Corlys' one true love. His seat of power.
Now that the Hand was jumping far beyond his station. Daemon contemplated having him killed.
The only thing holding him back was his brother's friendship with the Hightower and the potential implication it would have on Daeron. Viserys would not respond well to the assassination and might even disinherit both of them should he find out that he was behind it.
His brother could be irrational like that.
The thought of summoning his little drake preemptively before Viserys made a decision was gnawing at the back of his mind. At least in such a situation, Daemon would have some control over the affairs of his only child.
Otto could scheme all he liked, but as Daeron's father, there was no one alive who had a bigger say in his son's life. Viserys, at least, had the sense to recognize that. As for the Bronze Bitch, please…
She had never been a mother to their son. The only motherly thing she had done in her miserable life was not smother his blood the second he came into this world.
Of course, that might have just been the Royces saving their useless hides.
God forbid, if he had even heard an inkling of even a single hair of his son being harmed, then the Vale would burn, whether his control-freak of a grandfather agreed or not.
Anyways, he was getting distracted.
This might be a good opportunity for him to introduce Daeron to Laena. As for his niece, while he was quite close to Rhaenyra, even he could not deny her spoiled nature.
Molded from being essentially the sole Targaryen child permanently stationed at the capital.
With everyone heaping their attention on the brat, there wasn't a doubt in Daemon's mind that she and his son would get along like a house on fire.
His son was a chip of the old block, not taking anyone's shit and giving as good as he got.
Last the prince heard, the brat that had nearly killed his son had been flogged to an inch of his life. Nothing those irritating Royces could do to protect the little shit had worked.
In his son's own words, 'Shut up, or join him in the punishment.'
The bronze bitch, for once in her life, made herself useful for once by agreeing with his son's decision. How dare they lay a hand on his blood and flesh?
Reportedly, that Arryn girl was getting far too close to his son. The girl was clearly trying to win his affections while he was still young and naive.
At first, when he'd heard the news, Daemon had been opposed to it and intended to put a stop to it. Laena was his first choice after all, not an Andal whore, but on second thought, he'd realized that the Arryn girl didn't need to wed his son.
As long as the relationship between the two was good enough, his son would have the backing of a relatively powerful Kingdom, which was a good trade-off in his eyes.
Anyways, ultimately it was up to his son on what he wanted to do.
…
(Viserys Targaryen, King's Landing)
"Are you sure about this?"
Viserys Targaryn was concerned, very much so. After all, he had no desire to see another House obtain a dragon, marriage or otherwise.
The Velaryons were already giving everyone a headache. Another one would only make the situation worse.
"Indeed, your grace. Lady Arryn hasn't exactly been subtle about her intentions for the young prince." His most reliable friend explained.
Pinching the bridges of his nose, the recently ascendant King finally understood why that little girl had so strongly supported his claims so much.
His initial thoughts were that she recognized their blood relations, but when looking into it more deeply, he realized he was being naive.
As of now, his brother and nephew were unmistakably his heirs, something even he had vaguely acknowledged. Until he had a son, that would remain the case for the foreseeable future.
It would not be a lie to say that Viserys wasn't interested in this potential match. The Targaryens could gain a stronger support base from which they could draw man from, if the Vale became a part of the crown…
Dragons could win wars, but men were needed to maintain order after all was done. They couldn't be everywhere at once after all. This was one of the things his brother was so blind to, but as King, Viserys understood it perfectly.
That doesn't mean there wasn't opposition to it. The rest of the Kingdoms would not sit easily knowing that the Targaryens could potentially become more powerful.
A match with a Great House was of no issue to them, but a match that practically gained them a Kingdom, that wasn't something they would be willing to see go through without a fight.
In that scenario, they would rather see the Crown continue its incestuous practices over the potential consolidation. Of course, no one was stupid enough to openly oppose it, but they would find ways to undermine it.
Deciding that stalling for now was for the best, Viserys made his choice. "Inform Daemon that he is to bring my nephew to the Capital. It's time for the poor lad to recognize his kin."
Nodding respectfully towards him. His hand immediately set forth to carry out his decision.
As for Viserys, he could only hope that kicking the issue away for now would give him some time to make a concrete decision.
'It's been far too long since I saw the lad last, Daemon truly is a lucky bastard to be blessed with a son.'
------
What in the gods' name was going on? Wasn't this supposed to be a normal trade?
All he could feel at this moment was befuddlement and burning fury. The irony did not escape him, yet he could not care less.
Whatever it took, he would have his vengeance!
'You will not get away with making a fool out of me, boy!"
------
Inclining his head respectfully, the wizened lord glanced warily at the unpredictable young man in front of him. A larger part of him regretted not getting closer when he had the opportunity.
There was no use lamenting what could have been.
Glancing at the ethereal beauty sat side-by-side with this chaotic brat, and recognizing her barely concealed smugness, the Seahorse was confident he could repair the relationship with his daughter and his goodson.
It wasn't the first time he had groveled to a woman for forgiveness; his wife was no weak woman after all.
Having had enough with the silence, the young man finally spoke, "You could not live with your own failure. Where did that bring you? Back to me,"
"..."
------
The western continent burned. As it always did.
War. War was never kind. All it did was take, giving back to only a scant few. Often to those with the bigger fist.
He had been blessed with opportunities that made him stand above the rabble. It was time for him to give something back to the land that birthed him.
Seeing this happen first-hand and without his interference rankled him deeply. How dare they start a war without his input? Did they think themselves above the Imperium?
A bunch of lizards playing dragons. Wearing coats they had no right to.
No. He would not have it.
It's time they met with a real dragon, one untouched by the schemes and intrigues that plagued the false dragons.
======
[Big Note:]
The MC has a few screws loose, as you might have noticed, and he's surrounded by people with ulterior motives. Even his father. You must be aware that it definitely has the 'unreliable narrator' tone to it. Everyone thinks they're doing the right thing or that they're inherently correct. Let's see how well that goes for them.
As for Jeyne Arryn and her Redfort roommate. Well, it always comes off as ridiculous that most depict her as being opposed to such a match and even actively antagonistic to an MC in that situation. Hello? Scaled Kitty of Destruction, Anyone? Plus, in that situation, both figures would have likely grown up together with a relatively good opinion of each other, considering her Regent and Lord Protector was Grandpa Royce, who, unlike his daughter or son-in-law (Daemon), would definitely be interested in matching his grandson with the heiress and would try his best to cultivate such a relationship. I also made her blonde instead of brunette, because why tf not? If I want a Joan/Jean/Jeanne expy, I'll have it, you hear me!
As for Daemon and Viserys, I wanted to weigh in on their thoughts about the MC, one with a rose-tinted view of both himself and his son, and the other with a more rounded but well-meaning view. As for Rhea's actual thoughts, well, that's for later.